This was 1994. 9 pm approximately. Miles Fairchild wandered through the maze inside the mansion, observing the noisy crows and the oppressive atmosphere. Birds sat on the bare branches of December trees, yellow and dry leaves lay tiredly on the ground...

Somewhere to the right a silhouette flies by. Miles notices someone not far from him out of the corner of his eye. He turns around and begins to walk in the direction where he heard the rustling.

— What the heck. Who is there?